On the Trail of King Richard III

review.

A Historical Novel with Powerful Insights

Every age has its heroes, and its villains. Richard III, King of England (1483-1485) was a villain, a monster perhaps, but that’s Shakespeare’s version, sourced from documents which were either pro-Tudor or blatantly anti-York; the War of the Roses – The Continuation.

But, was he so very evil? Not according to a small group of enthusiastic individuals called Ricardians who seek to have the truth told. The central character of this work of fiction - Laura - is determined to undertake her own investigation, using a combination of common sense, instinct and more than a touch of ESP. She gets more than she bargains for however when she reaches for the ultimate prize; the truth about what happened to the Princes in the Tower and unwittingly unleashes a chain of events which threaten to destroy her and her travelling companions.

Witty, amusing and provocative, this is a story overflowing with little-known facts, bizarre encounters and finally, unremitting evil. A traveler’s tale? Absolutely! But, be warned! For those who seek knowledge must come prepared, for often it seems that Truth is jealously guarded to the death, and sometimes beyond!

Reputed to be the most concise and historically accurate rendering of King Richard III yet set within the confines of an intelligently written, exciting and frequently amusing storyline.

‘A worthy successor to Daughter of Time,’ said David Hardwick, Ranger at the Bosworth Field Battlesite.

P.A. Hancock, Provost Distinguished Research Professor, University of Central Florida – ‘Ollie’s book is a most enjoyable contribution to the historiographic genre … occasional nuggets of information and surprises … find one running for reference texts and asking questions such as Is it true or Could that have happened? It is an engaging book that will interest most Ricardians, and it acts to stimulate ideas about possible courses of events. In this, its value goes well beyond mere pleasure alone. An excellent tour guide too … Richardians will want to re-create the Ollie Tour!’

‘Well-researched, well-written, and very enjoyable.’ Annette Stark, Past Chair, Richard III Society of New Zealand.

R. Corney, The Dominion: ‘The history of King Richard works … I got thoroughly hooked.’

M. Christensen, Wairarapa Times-Age: ‘For investigators and apologists for the Richard III phenomenon, On the Trail of King Richard III will prove engrossing reading’.

Also by the same Author

Thirteen at Dinner

A play about King Richard the Third of England 1452-1485

ISBN 978-0-473-18356-1

Creatures of the Chase

Book One - Richard

A tragic love story and edge of your seat thriller.

ISBN 978-0-473-18463-6

Soon to be released

Creatures of the Chase

Book Two – Yusuf

ISBN 978-0-473-18464-3

Creatures of the Chase

Book Three - Mikail

ISBN 978-0-473-18462-9

Acknowledgements

My first debt of gratitude must go to History, that great work of convoluted non-fiction where truth often wears a disguise and falsehoods abound.

To the numerous scholars over the years who have contributed substantially to our knowledge of King Richard III and the age in which he lived. I wish to express my thanks and admiration to all those individuals, both professional and amateur, who have sought, and continue to seek to learn and publish the truth. From them I have drawn my sources, and my inspiration.

To the Richard III Society and its members, many of whom infused me with a deep sense of caring for this strange and enigmatic man.

L. M. Ollie

April 1998

Disclaimer

Although this work is fiction, special care has been taken to preserve historical accuracy within the bounds of the storyline which is, of itself, a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events in modern time is strictly coincidental.

L. M. Ollie

April 1998

Dedication

To my beloved daughter Alicia Magdalene;

a symbol of the hope we all must sustain.

August 22nd, 1485

The Field of Redemore, England

King Richard:

Up with my tent! Here I will lie tonight;

But where to-morrow?

Shakespeare –

The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

[Act V, Scene 3]

He stood just outside the King’s pavilion and watched as the first pale glimmer of dawn encroached upon the landscape, eclipsing the terrors that beset the night. Around him the camp stirred listlessly. A mummer here and there, a muffled cry; shouts half heard, carried on a freshening wind, screaming of watchfulness and smelling of the primeval fear so long associated with impending death. His coal-black eyes surveyed the scene with infinite care, missing nothing, but none dared meet his gaze or even look in his direction.

‘Long has it been so,’ he mused, turning the thought over and over in his mind, delighting in the knowledge of the terror he evoked in the minds and hearts of the ignorant, the superstitious and the unwary. He was pleased, for was that not his intention, was that not his reason for being? And soon, yes very soon, he would be free of this, free to hunt anew and glory in chaos and the hopelessness of mankind.

King Richard, third of that name of the House of Plantagenet, lay like a man newly racked, his skin deathly pale; his body frail beyond endurance. His face betrayed the knowledge of a sleepless night and his eyes had fear in them.

‘The Dragon is on the move my lord, ‘tis time.’

‘The priest, where is he?’

‘Gone Sire, with neither the holy blood nor the wafers to say the Mass or ease thy soul in the coming trial. No matter. Steel shall be thy strong right arm, thy armour a shield against this bastard Welsh pretender. Come my lord, I shall help thee make ready.’

He turned from him then and in a voice too low for mortal ears, whispered, ‘Time to fight Plantagenet; time to die.’

Present Day

Toronto, Canada

Duchess of York:

My husband lost his life to get the crown,

And often up and down my sons were toss’d,

For me to joy and weep their gain and loss…

Make war upon themselves; brother to brother,

Blood to blood, self against self:

Shakespeare –

The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

[Act II, Scene 4]

‘Who’s carrying your bag, Gail?’

‘Damn it, don’t scare me like that.’

‘I scared you?’ Laura chuckled as she unfolded herself and pushed away from the frame of the bedroom door where she had been standing for the past few minutes, watching unnoticed, as Gail finished her packing. ‘What’s in there?’ she asked, marvelling at close range Gail’s massive suitcase while at the same time ignoring the chaos around her.

‘Maybe the list would be shorter if I told you what isn’t in there. Have you brought the itinerary?’

‘Yes, and don’t change the subject,’ Laura growled good-naturedly as she fought for space on what was left of Gail’s bed. ‘Look, there’s no way you’re going to be able to handle this monster. Some of the hotels in the UK have diabolical staircases. Multiple, narrow, steep, uneven, shallow and most of the time poorly lit, so you’ll be lucky if all you break is a leg. Do yourself a favour, find another, smaller bag.’

‘Got it on sale, a great buy, and I love the colours, so don't start.’ Finding just enough room on the bed, diagonally across from Laura, Gail lowered the lid of the suitcase to provide a natural table top. ‘Did you manage to get the tickets?’

Laura smiled wickedly. ‘Actors on roller-skates pretending to be trains?’

‘Starlight Express. Come on, did you get them?’

‘Best in the house.’

‘Yes!’ Gail exclaimed, adding two thumbs up for emphasis. ‘Okay, I’m ready. Let’s hear what you’ve got planned since you’ve insisted upon keeping the itinerary a secret.’

Laura hesitated for a moment, seeming to gather her strength as well as her thoughts. ‘I’ve set a theme for this trip, bearing in mind your determination to see and experience the grotesque, the macabre, the haunted, and the downright disgusting.’ Gail chuckled. ‘I’ve chosen a specific historical era and a particular individual.’

‘Yeah,’ Gail said, suddenly wary. ‘Who?’

‘The last Plantagenet, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, later King Richard the Third – born 1452, died 1485.’

‘You mean old hunchback, murdered-his-nephews-in-the-tower thus forfeiting the Uncle of the Year Award, Richard the Third? The, a horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse Richard the Third?’

‘The same,’ Laura smiled wickedly. ‘Okay smarty, so you know your Shakespeare but, do you know your history?’ She paused, reached inside her jacket pocket then placed a full-colour, postcard-size picture on top of the suitcase. ‘Here’s a copy of his portrait by an unknown artist.’

Gail picked the card up and studied the portrait closely, her head to one side, her brow knotted. Laura watched her intently. ‘I can’t remember when I first became intrigued by him. Perhaps it was after reading Josephine Tey's novelette The Daughter of Time. The hero of that piece found it hard to believe that this face belongs to one of history's most notorious murderers. I guess I’m having the same problem.’

‘So, this is what he looked like. I agree it’s a nice face, but look, even in our time there have been mass murderers with faces like angels. What is it you hear? Such a nice boy, quiet, never in any sort of trouble. Yeah, right, while unbeknown to everyone, all unsuspecting, he’s torturing and murdering all over the place, burying the bodies after snacking on the choices bits. Sorry, looks are skin deep, but evil, right to the bone baby.’ She dropped the card in such a way that it landed with the face staring straight up at Laura.

Almost hesitantly Laura picked it up. ‘Was Gail right?’ The face had a strained look about it, as if he were in pain. ‘Why, and what sort of pain?

‘Well, are you interested Gail? Feel like making a comparison between the Shakespearean version of the facts and what has been written in recent times by noted historians? After all, Shakespeare did such a good job that his side of the story became the accepted classroom history text for hundreds of years.’

Laura knew that Gail would not, could not, resist such a challenge. She knew her Shakespeare, and the Bard was practically sacrosanct. Would she admit that his play was a piece of historical fiction written during Tudor times to please a Tudor Queen? Would he bend the truth to the breaking point just to see his work performed? Did he malign Good King Richard just to make a buck? Laura started to laugh and promptly slipped off the bed.

‘You’re getting weirder and weirder, do you know that?’ Gail said as she surveyed her sister-in-law sprawled on the floor. ‘Come on downstairs, nut case. There's a fresh pot of coffee waiting.’ Gail was halfway across the room when she shot back over her shoulder. ‘Now I know why you were so interested in knowing if I had studied the play in school and, whether or not I understood it, cheeky bitch.’

Laura chuckled. ‘Well, did you?’

‘As a matter of fact, I rented Olivier's Richard the Third from the video store about a month ago. Still get goose bumps just thinking about it. Scary stuff. He was a monster and the worst part was that he was so charming too. Are you saying that Shakespeare had it all wrong?’ Gail had stopped at the top of the stairs to wait for Laura.

‘Oh no, Richard was charming all right. There are thousands of people right now all around the world who would agree with that. It’s the monster part that’s causing all the problems and on that score, there’s plenty of debate. You wouldn't believe the number of books written about him. There’s a Richard the Third Society too. Lots of people belong. They’re called Ricardians and their aim is to basically rewrite history.’

‘Why?’ Gail shrugged. ‘The guy's been dead for what, five hundred years?’

‘That's what I mean. Why? I'm talking about a lot of intelligent, professional people here who care deeply about this man's reputation. Anyhow, I think it’ll be fun to follow the trail as it were, visit the places associated with him and, hopefully meet some Ricardians and find out the truth. Well, what do you think?’

‘This is going to be a fun trip, isn’t it; I mean lots of shopping, theatre and such?’

Laura frowned. ‘Of course; why, what’s the problem?’

‘Nothing. I’ll get the coffee.’

*****

‘Right, that’s it,’ Laura announced as she finished going over the itinerary. ‘A copy for you so you can show Wayne and the girls and, I guess you might as well have this old road atlas. It’s out of date, so I had a new one sent.’ She sighed as she gathered her notes together. ‘I have to warn you, the driving is going to be hell on wheels. Sorry, but you did say you wanted to see as much of England as possible, so I …’

Laura was interrupted at this point when the doorbell rang. Gail hurried off then returned with a pizza delivery box and, with a flourish, dropped it on the table.

‘I ordered this early this morning for noon delivery. Roger told me you were coming over so I ordered the pizza, bought a bottle of red wine and trashed my bedroom. And, I might add, read up a little on the Kings and Queens. It was a toss-up between Mary, Queen of Scots and Richard. I couldn’t see us doing Mary all the way from London, so that left Richard. You’ve mentioned him before you know, and, I must admit, it’s an interesting story. Who knows, maybe we’ll end up joining the Richard the Third Society.’

‘I doubt it. For one thing, it was noted in a recent survey that most members are female, left-handed and librarians, which rules us out, on two counts anyway. And, you have to believe that Richard was a good guy, and frankly I don’t think he was, even after discounting all the Tudor propaganda.’

‘What do you think he was?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Laura said with a shrug. ‘Perhaps he was no better or worse than his contemporaries. With the childhood he had, maybe he could best be described as justifiably certifiable.’

‘You mean he was nuts?’

Laura chuckled. ‘Maybe; certainly something was wrong somewhere.’

‘Let me get organized then you can tell me all about his childhood while we have lunch.’

Gail disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Laura to settle into the adjacent breakfast room. The patio doors were open to the warmth of yet another beautiful August summer morning. It was a lovely room with its profusion of plants and dried flower arrangements, but Laura also liked it because it was the only room in which Gail allowed smoking.

‘Right, I think I’ve got everything,’ Gail announced as she prepared the table.

‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’

‘Come on, maybe we can get some clues from those early, formative years. Tell me.’

‘Okay,’ Laura said with a sigh. ‘But the truth is he had one hell of a childhood.’

*****

Slowly, methodically, Laura eased Gail back through time more than five hundred years to an age of unspeakable violence, sudden death, treachery and deceit. Richard was born on October 2nd, 1452, the last surviving son of Richard, Duke of York and Cicely Neville. He had three older brothers. Edward was ten years old, Edmund was nine, and George was four when Richard was born. There were sisters too. With the exception of Richard, all the children seemed to have inherited their mother's fair good looks and excellent constitution. Richard resembled his father; slender, dark-haired and short of stature. He may well have been a sickly child. Although certainly not the deformed monster of Tudor propaganda, he lacked the sheer physical presence of his brothers, especially Edward, who epitomized the physical ideal of king-like majesty.

The Wars of the Roses, in the midst of which Richard was born, involved two competing royal Houses - York and Lancaster. The prize was the throne of England and absolute power. The King, Henry the Sixth, was mentally ill. His wife, Margaret of Anjou, was a rapacious woman whose ruling passion was her young son Edouard who was one year younger than Richard. A power struggle between the forces of the Duke of York and the Royalists was inevitable. When Richard’s father reached for the golden prize, it was too late. In December, 1460, at the Battle of Wakefield, Richard lost his father, an uncle and his brother Edmund. Queen Margaret ordered that their heads be struck off and displayed atop Micklegate Bar in York.

The Story, as it came to be called, unfolded further as various characters leapt from the pages of history to succeed or fail on the whim of chance. Richard’s exile in Burgundy, his brother Edward’s successful bid for the throne when Queen Margaret overplayed her hand and lost the support of the people. The bloody Battle of Towton where 28,000 men perished, crippling the power base of the House of Lancaster. Then in June, 1461 the coronation of a new king - Edward the Fourth of the House of York. From penniless exile, Richard now stood third in line of succession to the English throne. He was not yet nine years of age.

King Edward was a popular monarch who readily won the hearts of his subjects. Young Richard basked in the reflected glory of his brother’s reign and adored him as he adored his mentor and namesake, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, known as the Kingmaker. Warwick, however, was not content just to make a king, he was determined to rule him as well, and this Edward refused to allow. Hostilities increased when Edward secretly married Elizabeth Wydville, a commoner and widow five years older than her husband. A known Lancastrian, she had been a maid of honour to Queen Margaret. The court was appalled. Greedy, ambitious and arrogant, Elizabeth also had a large family, all of whom King Edward would be expected to provide for as befitting the dignity of the queen’s relatives. The elevation of the Wydville clan to positions of rank well beyond their humble origins caused considerable friction at court, ultimately leading to pro and anti-Wydville factions.

For nearly four years Richard escaped the wrangling of court life high in the moorlands at Middleham in Yorkshire. Under the watchful eye of the Earl of Warwick, Richard learned martial arts and courtly manners as well as receiving a conventional education. They were to be the happiest years of his life.

In February, 1469, just sixteen years of age, Richard - now Duke of Gloucester - presided at a commission in Salisbury set up to try two alleged traitors - Thomas Hungerford and Henry Courtenay - both of whom were subsequently found guilty and executed. King Edward’s determination to keep his youngest brother at his side and to involve him more and more in the administration of raw power had a sinister side. Trouble was brewing and treason rode the winds.

Sickened by the power and influence of the Wydvilles and by Edward’s adulterous and excessive lifestyle, Warwick was determined to overthrow the king he had created and place on the throne instead his son-in-law George, Duke of Clarence, Richard’s only other surviving brother. At the battle of Edgecote in June, 1469, Warwick’s forces captured and executed Elizabeth Wydville’s father and brother, John. King Edward was captured a few days later and taken first to Warwick Castle, then to Middleham. Richard’s whereabouts at this time are unknown.

Unable to govern with Edward still alive and yet unwilling to see to his death, Warwick had no option but to release the young King after a few weeks of captivity. Encouraged by the Queen to avenge the death of her father and brother, Warwick and Clarence were branded traitors. By this time Richard was old enough to bring an army of his own to bear, but not quick enough, and Warwick and Clarence were able to escape to France.

In desperation, Warwick negotiated an arrangement with Margaret of Anjou. In exchange for the return of all his properties, Warwick promised to support the Lancastrian cause, restore Henry VI to the throne of England and defeat Edward with a combined army of Lancastrian, Neville and French forces. As a token of his faith, he offered his younger daughter, Anne, in marriage to the Queen’s son, Edouard. George Clarence’s dream of a crown vanished and worse, he realized that there would be no place in a Lancastrian realm for a son of York.

Warwick succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, despite the fact that Edward, Richard, the Queen’s brother Anthony (Earl Rivers) and William, Lord Hastings managed to take ship for the Low Lands. For the second time Richard was to know the bitterness of defeat and exile. He was not quite eighteen.

On the 2nd of November, 1470, Elizabeth Wydville gave birth to a son within the sanctuary of Westminster Abbey. With the knowledge of a healthy male heir after a succession of daughters, Edward was inspired to reclaim his throne and put an end to the House of Lancaster forever. With help from Charles, Duke of Burgundy, Edward set sail for England with a fleet of fourteen ships and a small army. Caught off guard, Warwick was at Coventry when news of Edward’s triumphant arrival in London reached him. Disillusioned by Warwick, George Clarence defected and the three brothers were reunited.

At the Battle of Barnet, the forces of the Earl of Warwick were defeated. Warwick and his brother Montague were slain, their bodies publicly displayed at St. Paul’s. French forces landed at Weymouth, and although Margaret of Anjou was initially disheartened to hear the news of Warwick’s death, she was determined to raise a new army in Wales and Lancashire. Heavy rains, however, hampered her journey north so by the time she reached Tewkesbury, her army was too exhausted to continue.

The battle that followed was brutal and decisive. Richard’s forces played a major role in the ultimate defeat of the enemy, many of whom died on the Bloody Meadows. Young Edouard was slain on the field although it has been suggested by many, including Shakespeare, that he was captured then murdered by Edward, aided by his two brothers. What is known is that those Lancastrians who sought sanctuary within Tewkesbury Abbey were dragged out, given a hasty trial then executed in the marketplace. A few days later Margaret of Anjou was captured and handed over to Edward, who displayed her like a prize of war during his triumphal procession through the streets of London.

With the son dead, it was the father’s turn. On the morning of the 22nd of May, 1471, Henry the Sixth was found dead in the Wakefield Tower. Although the official cause of death was reported as pure displeasure and melancholy, the chronicler John Warkworth wrote the following: -

‘And the same night that King Edward came to London, King Henry, being inward in prison in the Tower, was put to death, the 21st of May, on a Tuesday night, between eleven and twelve of the clock, being then at the Tower the Duke of Gloucester, brother to King Edward, and many others; and on the morrow he was chested and brought to Paul's, and his face was open that every man might see him; and in his lying he bled on the pavement there; and afterward at the Black Friars was brought, and there he bled new and fresh; and from thence he was carried to Chertsey Abbey in a boat, and buried there in our Lady Chapel.’

‘So,’ Gail mused, her head tilted to one side, ‘Richard did murder the old King, just like Shakespeare said he did.’

‘Looks like it,’ Laura replied with a shrug. ‘Chalk one up under the heading regicide Gail.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A king killer.’

‘Nice one.’

‘Well, you asked about Richard's early years and, there it is. Fair to say isn't it, that late in the evening of May 21st, 1471, not yet nineteen years old, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester, became a major force in his own right. He had learned some powerful lessons on the road to adulthood, many from individuals whose ruthlessness was as uncompromising as it was heartless. A product of his age, we can tut-tut all we want but, unless we’re prepared to put ourselves in his shoes and see the world as he saw it, none of us can pass judgment.

‘Richard Gloucester lived in a violent age, rent with civil war, treachery and sudden death. Twice he was exiled, declared a traitor and stripped of wealth and power. His father, brother and an uncle were brutally slain, their bodies defiled. He had seen Edward betrayed by his own brother George, and by Warwick, a man Richard had looked up to and admired almost like a father. In the final frame Richard walked from the Tower of London with the blood of a dead king on his hands, as cold and ruthless as all the rest. Political pragmatism expressed in its most lethal form.’

‘Is it too late to do Mary, Queen of Scots instead?’

‘I’m going after this man Gail, and before I’m done, I’ll have some answers to quite a few questions. One thing I do know already though, he was a thoroughly not nice proposition.’ Slowly she began to gather her material together.

When she looked up, Gail was gnawing at her lower lip, her concern obvious. ‘What do you mean by go after?’

‘You’ll see.’

*****

‘Leave her alone Gail,’ Wayne said as he tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn.

‘I’m worried about her. Roger says she’s practically obsessed with this man. She’s not eating. I bet you she’s lost ten, fifteen pounds since you last saw her.’

‘So what? Laura’s tall and slim, and you’re neither. Sometimes I think you’re jealous of her.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Gail huffed. ‘If anything, she’s jealous of me. You know she loves the girls. If she’d just stop and even consider the idea of starting a family, then maybe everything would be okay again.’ Tears came to her eyes. ‘I know Roger’s not happy.’

‘I’ve told you before, it’s none of your business,’ Wayne warned.

‘Roger says that …’

‘Roger says, Roger says. That’s the problem, isn’t it? The both of you, nattering at her all the time. Let her be. Losing her parents like that and no family to turn to, I’d think that you, of all people would be more supportive of her.’

‘I am, but …’

‘No buts. Laura’s paying for this trip, so why don’t you just enjoy it. If she’s got an interest in this king, whoever he is, I think that’s great. At least she’s getting out of herself.’

‘This king is a nasty piece of work.’ Gail tugged the bed covers up to her chin.

‘From what I remember of the English monarchy, none of the kings were very nice and a few of the queens too.’ Wayne chuckled. ‘Look on the bright side. Maybe next year she’ll switch to Egyptian history and you’ll finally get to see the Nile.’

Gail sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right, but I can’t shake the feeling that she has something in mind, something … I don’t know. There’s been some strange people at her parent’s cottage this summer. Roger says they’re wackos.’

‘Roger would,’ Wayne said as another yawn erupted. ‘I’m tired. I’ve had a busy day and, from the sounds of it, so have you. Go, have a great time and don’t worry about me, the girls or anything else for that matter.’

‘No doubt you and Roger have things planned. I hope you two behave yourselves.’

‘Didn’t Roger tell you? He’s planning a business trip.’ Wayne rolled over. ‘I wish my firm had such exotic locales.’ He stared at Gail fixedly. ‘As I said, give Laura a break.’

‘And what’s that suppose to mean?’

‘I think you know exactly what it means.’

Day 1

London, England

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Shakespeare –

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second

[Act II, Scene 1]

‘Breakfast is coming,’ Laura whispered as she slipped into her seat.

Gail pushed her blanket back, stretched effusively and yawned. ‘Where did you go?’

‘I went to the back of the plane. I found two empty crew seats.’

‘I hope you didn’t try to sneak a cigarette. I’ve heard that passengers who do get handed a parachute.’

‘I’m patched.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Nicotine patches - I’m on the drip feed.’ Laura smile wickedly. ‘What to try one? They’re guaranteed to be a blast for a non-smoker.’

Gail fixed Laura with her best we are not amused look and then went to work trying to extricate her carry-on bag from under the seat in front. Laura turned in her seat far enough to allow Gail to pass. Before she moved on to join the small queue forming at the rear of the plane, Gail leaned over and whispered in Laura’s ear. ‘Actually, I’m proud of you. You’ve held up very well, with or without aid.’

‘It ministers, it does not gratify,’ Laura growled.

Gail patted her shoulder. ‘Poor monkey.’

*****

The Boeing 747 descended rapidly through a thin bank of cloud, corrected its course then levelled out, cruising effortlessly as it prepared for its final approach into London Heathrow. Securely belted in their seats, some passengers’ eager anticipation erupted into conversation, while others checked then re-checked their documentation or sat staring out the window, perhaps seeing the lush green of the English countryside for the first time.

Earlier, after a Continental breakfast, Laura and Gail had busied themselves filling in their arrival forms. The usual name, address, nationality, but Gail came to a screeching halt on the line marked Occupation. ‘What do you think I should put down? I hate housewife and there’s not enough room to put cleaner, school committee member, Halloween costume maker, cook, closet organizer, orphan sock finder …’

‘Put down Lifestyle Co-ordinator.’

‘Lifestyle Co-ordinator; I like that. Is it one of yours?’

Laura nodded as she slid her completed form inside her Passport. Ruefully, she had written Company Director on her form. A grandiose title, but the truth was that her little company had not proven as successful as she had hoped. Warned by those in the know, she was learning the hard way that being paid for services rendered, specifically computer training, was a hopeless task. She had boarded the aircraft with only a portion of the receivables paid, or ever likely to be.

Still childless after ten years of marriage, Laura’s relationship with her husband had deteriorated rapidly over the past few months. The trip, it was hoped, would provide a breathing space for both of them; a chance to review options; an opportunity to think things through. Laura idly tapped the tips of her fingernails on the arm of her seat as she thought of her husband, Roger, who was, perhaps at that very moment, sleeping with another woman; a divorcee with a young son. Oh, yes, Laura knew what was happening, and she also knew that Gail had been instrumental in introducing this woman to her brother. It only remained now for Laura to choose just the right moment, when Gail was sufficiently off guard, to … Laura smiled inwardly.

‘Plenty of time yet, so let her enjoy herself; for awhile at least.’

*****

Laura weaved her way around several mounds of luggage then dropped with a heavy sigh into the soft leather sofa beside Gail. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid. Our room won’t be ready for at least two hours.’

Gail groaned. ‘An eight hour flight, a delayed departure, it’s ten in the morning but it feels like midnight and I want - I need - a shower.’ She groaned again, louder this time.

‘Buck up old thing, at least we’re here. London lies at our feet, waiting, so let’s do it. We’ve got Westminster Abbey, Madam Tussauds, Harrods, London Dungeons, Covent Garden, Piccadilly, Buckingham Palace, the Royal Mews. You name it.’

‘Madam Tussauds first,’ Gail said, suddenly excited.

‘You’ve got it.’

*****

‘Well, what do you think?’ Gail asked as she proudly held up the souvenir photo of herself, taken with a waxen Arnold Schwarzenegger.

‘Very nice,’ Laura said, as she luxuriated in the roomy interior of an English taxi.

‘I’m going to take it out of its frame and tell Wayne that I met Arnold, we had lunch together, and …’

‘You would lie to your husband?’ Laura was scandalised.

Gail shrugged. ‘He wouldn’t believe me anyhow. Nothing exciting ever happens to me.’

Laura smiled wickedly as she turned towards the window. ‘Maybe we can change that,’ she whispered under her breath.

*****

By the time they arrived back at their hotel it was nearly two o’clock. Laura watched, fascinated as Gail tried to wrestle monster bag onto her bed. ‘Do you want some help?’

‘No, just stay where you are smoking that damn cigarette while I get a hernia,’ Gail said from the floor where she had positioned herself in the hope that she might be able to push the case upwards.

Laura relented so that, between the two of them, they managed to get it onto the bed. Laura retrieved her cigarette from the ashtray. ‘Tell me when you’re finished with it. For God's sake, don't push it off the bed or it’ll end up in the lounge downstairs.’ Laura had to raise her voice at the end as Gail entered the bathroom, determined to take a quick shower. ‘Don’t be long. Our next stop is Westminster Abbey; resting place of kings and queens.’

Gail stuck her head around the corner. ‘Is Richard buried there?’

‘His wife Anne is but no one knows where he’s buried, if indeed, he’s buried at all.’

‘That’s strange, isn’t it?’

Laura considered the question. ‘There’s plenty about Richard Plantagenet that is singular in the extreme.’

‘Why didn’t you want to stand beside him at Madam Tussauds so I could take your picture?’

‘I’m not a complete tourist you know. Come on, hurry up.’

*****

‘Well, what did you think of Westminster?’ Laura asked over top of her wine glass. They had chosen their hotel restaurant partly because it offered an Early Bird Dinner Special plus, they were both extremely tired now and the knowledge that their beds were so close, appealed.

‘Beautiful, but honestly, you tell the most disgusting stories. Where do you get all that stuff from anyway?’

‘What stuff? You mean about Mary Queen of Scots execution being botched?’ Laura chuckled.

‘And what you said about Elizabeth the First blowing out her coffin because she hadn’t been embalmed properly. Cromwell being dug up, the body hung at Tyburn before being decapitated.’ Gail shook her head in disbelief.

‘Henry the Seventh has a nice tomb though, don’t you think? I especially liked the angels sitting on the lid making sure he can’t get out.’ Laura smiled wickedly.

Gail took a couple of sips of her wine. ‘Well, brat child that you are, if you insist upon relating your disgusting anecdotes and we’re planning to visit the Tower tomorrow, you had better tell me more of the Story. Last I heard Richard was wiping his blade on his pants and his brother was trying on crowns.’

‘My notes are upstairs.’

‘That's okay, I'll wait.’

‘Thanks a lot.’ Laura pushed her chair back. She was assisted by a member of the staff. Explaining the need to get something from her room, she made her apologies and left.

By the time she returned, Gail had finished her wine and had ordered another. Their meals had not yet arrived. Assisted back into her seat, she glared at Gail. ‘And what did your last slave die from?’

‘Never mind. Have you seen the dessert trolley?’ Gail’s eyes fairly danced with delight.

‘Not interested,’ Laura said with a shrug of indifference as she sorted through her notes. In all the years that Laura had